


And Then There Were None

by freetheelves2



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-10
Updated: 2007-12-10
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freetheelves2/pseuds/freetheelves2
Summary: A group of unlikely people come together four years later because someone wanted them to. Based in part off the Agatha Christie novel.





	

Really, in a way it was a day like any other.  
  
Four years had passed and things _had_ calmed down. With the almost-death of a fair few people and the actual death of a fair few more, the company finally stopped.  
  
Her father's murder of Bob certainly helped that.  
  
After the fact, people with abilities – villains or not – seemingly came together in a protective sort of way.  
  
Adam escaped and somehow was persuaded, much like Sylar, not to kill anyone anymore. A dangerous line of trust to be walking on, but in exchange they were given their freedom, in a way, and protection from the law and the government. While Adam even developed tentative friendships, Sylar stuck to himself most of the time.  
  
No on really seemed to mind.  
  
It wasn't until the letter of invite arrived that things got shaken up, really.  
  
Dear Mr. Bennet  
  
You have been cordially invited to a meeting at the O'Nimuss mansion on Nomans Land Island, the island off the coast of Massachusetts on the tenth of October.  
  
As a former company employee, we ask you to go to Woods Hole, from where you shall take the Woods-Hole-Vineyard Haven Ferry to Vineyard Haven, meeting with the rest of the group at the south point of the island on Squibnocket Farm Road, at the small harbor to await your boat at noon to take you out to Nomans Land Island.  
  
Formally yours,  
Anne O'Nimuss  
  
"What is it, dad?" Claire asked, furrowing her brow.  
  
"I need to go to Massachusetts, it seems," he said slowly, seemingly in thought, "but it looks like a cab won't take me… Claire, would you mind just driving me to the ferry?"  
  
"I could just… come along…"  
  
"No, I don't think that's a good idea. But I would appreciate a ride there. Shouldn't last longer than, what, a week at most, maybe? It's this island… it was previously uninhabited, unexploded ordnance and all, what with the experimental bombing going on there forever, but it seems that's changed since."  
  
Claire shrugged. "Sure. When are we going?"  
  
"In a week."  


 

***

 

"Promise me you'll be back. There's something about that note that… I don't know. It seems incredibly fishy to me, dad."

"I'll be fine, I promise. Come back in a week and I'll be waiting for you right here, okay?"

Claire nodded, watching as her dad left the rental car and walked up to the ferry station.

Then—

Nothing.

Whirrr-whirrr-whirrr-nothing.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed a little too loudly, hitting her hands on the steering wheel. At least she was parked properly and—

Bounding from the car, she ran to the station to see if maybe—

"Claire? Is everything all right?"

"It's the car, dad. It just… it won't start."

Funny how things work out. Half an hour later, five grown men decided that there wasn't anything they could think of to do to help the car, and Noah Bennet somewhat reluctantly decided to take his daughter along.

 

***

 

The ferry ride was pleasant enough. Not four miles and they were already on the island named Martha's Vineyard, from where they would take a bus to its southern-most point, and the small harbor.

There, the real surprise hit her.

Some faces she didn't recognize at all, but a few—

"Peter!" she exclaimed, bounding forward to hug her uncle, beaming. "What are you doing here?"

"I was invited… as was Nathan and mom."

He gestured and Claire noticed for the first time that he was by far not the only familiar place.

" _You_ ," she almost spat, seeing Elle, standing with her arms crossed over her chest, wry face on.

"Old habits die hard, don't they? Two more members of the group here settled their disagreements and resentments, but you Claire—"

"I wasn't even invited, and I hardly doubt that this meeting is a lesson in tolerance," she shot back before looking around again.

Eyes narrowed as she saw Sylar, standing tall in all black.

"Do you always feel the need to look sinister and imposing?"

No comment. Of course.

But someone else stepped forward, smirking. "He doesn't. I do. But I don't have to wear black to commend authority. I just do it by trying to look snappy."

Snappy.

Oh, of course.

Adam Monroe.

"Well? Is everyone ready to go?" Adam asked, stepping inside the small motorboat and taking a seat at the head.

He got his answer when a car sputtered its way close to them, coming to a stop as two grown men stepped out.

"That's Matt Parkman of the NYPD and Mohinder Suresh, the geneticist," her father leaned down to whisper in her eat, and she nodded.

"Sorry we're late. Um. What are we late for, anyway?"

"We were just leaving to the go to the island," Adam said, and Sylar threw him a dark look, his hands disappearing into his pockets. "It's about three miles, so we should be there soon."

"Good, because it looks like there's a huge storm coming," a small, accented voice said from beside her. The woman looked visibly shaken, and Claire could tell that her and Sylar had exchanged quite a few dark looks before now.

 

***

 

They arrived all in one piece, though it seemed like the woman whom Claire later found to be named Maya had been right – seemingly as soon as they arrived, the sky broke out in an angry storm, sweeping over the Atlantic.

"Well, so much for making it back dry," Nathan had said, brushing off his suit jacket as soon as they had stepped foot into the large manor.

The island was large and imposing, with large lakes and winding pathways all over. It didn't take Claire long to locate the map, hung up in the foyer. The southeast corner seemed to be made up of nothing but steep cliffsides, all the other sides just beaches here and there. There was an aviary – her father had told her that the island had been known for its bird populations before it was deemed inhabitable once more – and an apple orchard, all the trees seemingly young. No surprise, really.

"Claire?" her father snapped her out of her momentary reverie, and she looked up.

"What?"

"There are… ten rooms and eleven people here, given that you weren't exactly planned for."

"I can sleep on the couch," she said, before he could say otherwise, nodding.

"That's what I'm talking about, Claire – I can take that place on the—"

"I can sleep on the couch," came a low growl from behind her, and she nearly jumped. "We found blankets – I'll be fine."

She couldn't disagree with him there. Although—

"Thank… you?" she stammered, eyes wide as she watched Sylar slink off to his make-shift bed.

He just shrugged.

"My room… was the first one over when you go up the stairs. Feel free to make yourself at home."

 

***

 

The rooms were _all_ incredibly nice, Claire realized when she spoke with a few of the others in theirs. They were all somehow… themed, if not by colors, then by animal, or culture, and hers in particular was all rather purple.

She wondered briefly whether this was part of the reason for why Sylar had given it up for her, but it didn't really matter all that much.

When it came time for dinner, it was already served, and about five minutes into their meal, Nathan thought to speak up a question that they had all been thinking ever since they'd gotten here first.

"Has anyone… seen our host, Ms. O'Nimuss, since we've gotten here?"

There was collective murmuring, and a general assent of _no_ among the crowd, and Angela cleared her throat.

"So it seems that none of us knows the host… nor have we seen her… our food was just there… this house doesn't even look _lived in_ , for god's sakes."

"What's this, anyway?" Elle asked, pointing at the figures in the middle.

It looked like a fucked up sort of pie, really. Except that it was porcelain, with – she counted – ten little figurines of boys in capes, standing in a line all around the edge, looking out.

"Seems to go with the rhyme above the fireplace in the sitting room, doesn't it?" Sylar asked quietly, keeping his eyes trained on his food, and Claire shot him a look.

"What rhyme?"

The question made him look up at her, smirking, eyes dark and foreboding. "It's a morbid little nursery rhyme. Wonder who could have had it in their mind to come up with something quite so… colorful."

"Yeah, like you, maybe?" she shot back, glaring at him, and he laughed.

"Don't you wish, Claire-bear."

It was her father's turn to shoot Sylar a dirty look, and he just shrugged.

 

***

 

"I… found this," Mohinder said, walking into the kitchen after having excused himself to the bathroom. "It says we're supposed to recommence in the sitting room after we're done eating dinner and then... listen to the recording in the CD player."

"Funny," Sylar leaned in close to whisper in her ear as they all walked out, "how everyone just seems to follow the instructions. Like ants, in a way."

A shiver went down her spine, and she graciously ignored it, taking her seat in the sitting room, her eyes falling upon the plaque with the rhyme for a moment before the sound came on.

" _Greetings, my guests," an unfamiliar male voice came on, "Interesting, what a tangled web we all weave, isn't it? All of you find yourselves here for different reasons, never having thought you'd all be brought together like this ever before. But you're all here because of the same crime – murder._

_"Dr. Mohinder Suresh and Detective Matt Parkman, assisting him, for the murder of Maury Parkman, actively withholding the medication he was prescribed. Gabriel Gray aka Sylar for the murder of his mother, Virginia Gray, scissors straight through her chest. Angela Petrelli for the indirect cause of her husband, Arthur Petrelli's suicide. Elle Bishop, for the reckless murder of Ricky McCallany," Peter's eyes went wide, "with the use of her ability. Adam Monroe for the murder of Kaito Nakamura, a needlessly vengeful act. Nathan Petrelli, for the murder of his wife, Heidi Petrelli, unable to deny his unwitting affections for his brother any longer. Peter Petrelli, for the murder of Simone Deveaux, having been fully capable of stopping that event from happening. Maya Herrera, for the murder of her twin brother, Alejandro, had she only been an ounce more wary. And Noah Bennet, for the murder of Robert Bishop, knowing full well that the company could have gone down without his death._

_"You are all here because you have committed grave crimes against humanity, and the law, powerless to punish you, thanks to your alliances and close bonds, has been unable to give you what you deserve. But justice will be served. I will make sure of that._

_"Would you like to play a game? I'll be watching._ "

The room was completely still for a few moments before there was a shriek behind her, and Claire whipped around to look.

Mohinder rushed forward to check on Maya, shaking his head. "She's fine. She just fainted. I'll make sure she's brought to bed, and then we can discuss this madness."

Watching as Sylar rolled his eyes, Claire made a face.

It didn't take Mohinder long to get back, and Matt was the first to speak. "We're all here because of things that… we didn't really cause directly. A lot of us have done a _lot_ worse than those crimes listed, but we're all here because of… seeming trivialities. Things that we didn't necessarily perpetrate."

"Someone's out to get revenge," Angela muttered, lips drawn tight. "All unnecessary, seemingly… accidental, unintentional deaths. It doesn't add up."

"How is this person hoping to serve justice anyway," Peter asked, voice low. There was an inexplicable… something in the air. It didn't just have to do with little facts – like, for example, that Nathan hadn't killed Heidi, that he had cast her out of his life, leading her to suicide, or even the fact that his mother's death was the one accidental murder Sylar had committed…

"Wait a minute," Adam said slowly, looking around. "It seems our pretty blonde cheerleader is just a bit too inconspicuous in this lovely little game. Your name wasn't called, was it, Claire?"

Her eyes shooting up, she cast out a warning glare. "No, it wasn't. But you'll remember that I wasn't invited. I'm here on accident."

"You wouldn't happen to have an alias? Anne, perhaps?"

Before she could shoot back, Nathan spoke up. "I recognize that voice… I think. I'm not sure."

"Nathan, it's in all of our best interest for you to tell us who that is, because I don't think it was any of us here," Peter said, but Nathan shook his head.

"No, I don't think so. Let me… let me think this over for a bit, and then we'll see."

Peter shrugs, and Claire realizes for… having just found out that his brother had… feelings for him, they were both unrealistically calm.

"Why doesn't someone go ahead and read aloud the poem? Sylar? Why not you?"

He threw her another smirk, getting up to read.

 

_"Ten Little Hero Boys went out to dine,  
One choked his little self, and then there were nine._

_Nine Little Hero Boys sat up very late,  
One overslept himself, and then there were eight._

_Eight Little Hero Boys traveling in Devon,  
One said he'd stay there, and then there were seven._

_Seven Little Hero Boys chopping up sticks,  
One chopped himself in halves, and then there were six._

_Six Little Hero Boys playing with a hive,  
A bumblebee stung one, and then there were five._

_Five Little Hero Boys going in for law,  
One got in Chancery, and then there were four._

_Four Little Hero Boys going out to sea,  
A red herring swallowed one, and then there were three._

_Three Little Hero Boys walking in the zoo,  
A big bear hugged one, and then there were two._

_Two Little Hero Boys playing with a gun,  
One shot the other and then there was one._

_One Little Hero Boy left all alone,  
he went and hanged himself, and then there were none."_

  
  
"Eerie," Elle said, scrunching up her nose.  
  
Things got quiet again for a few moments, and Claire wondered what would happen next, not to mention… what would happen to her. She was the odd one out.  
  
"I don't think it's Claire," her father said slowly, shaking his head. "She wouldn't be stupid enough to make herself the only one who didn't commit a crime, and there was nothing we could have done for that car. She clearly wasn't meant to make it onto the island with everyone else. This is intended for ten, not eleven. There aren't even enough beds and rooms for eleven.  
  
"Unless that's what's supposed to mislead us in the first place, have you thought of that?" Mohinder interjected, but Noah nodded.  
  
"Clearly this took extensive planning. I don't let Claire out of my sight. Just like you and Matt wouldn't let Molly get away with planning these intricate murders, am I right?" he shook his head. "Regardless. We're not limited to a woman, here. Anne O'Nimuss, right? Our very own… _Anonymous_. This person is an evil mastermind, and for once I'm not suspecting either Adam or Sylar."  
  
"How kind of you," Sylar murmured, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning back against the wall next to the fireplace. The fire cast an interesting, ethereal sort of glow over his dark form, and Claire's eyes narrowed for a moment as she stared.  
  
His gaze caught hers and his eyebrow quirked up. A silent question – _what_?  
  
She shrugged, looking away again.  
  
Just in time to hear the shattering of the glass on the floor as Matt Parkman fell.  
  
It took Mohinder mere moments this time to be by Matt's side, eyes going wide.  
  
"He just… he's dead."  
  
" _What_?" Adam said, eyes wide. "That's preposterous!"  
  
"It's true," Mohinder said, visibly paling. "This is… I… I'm going to have to look more closely at what he drank, it's… it's over the floor, but still… he just died…"  
  
"One choked his little self, and then there were nine," Sylar repeated in a sing-song voice, a smirk on his face, and she glared at him.  
  
"How on earth do you get off doing something like that? Have some respect for the dead!"  
  
"If I had respect for the dead, Claire-bear," he said, grinning as he stepped forward and leaned in closer to her, "people would think I was playing them and accuse me of killing everyone. No, thank you, I'd rather forego the headache and act like myself."  
  
"So that's what's happening. That's how this person wants to administer justice? By killing everyone here?"  
  
"Everyone but you, apparently," Peter said, face grim.  
  
When Mohinder spoke up again, everyone got quiet again. "There was cyanide in his drink. I mean… no one else died from drinking here – clearly the killer here is one of us."  
  
"We need to get off this island," Nathan said, solemn, shaking his head. "Before someone else dies."  
  
"I'll be right back," Adam said, dangerous glint in his eyes as he grabbed his coat and left the mansion.  
  
Not five minutes had passed before he was back.  
  
"Scuttled. Completely wrecked. And with the storm… and no means of communication…" He took a deep breath. "It seems we're stuck. At the mercy of a vengeful killer who wants to make us all miserable waiting to die while we can't get any help from anyone."  
  
"It's good," Peter said, slowly, "It's too good. Yeah, you're right Mohinder, it has to be one of us. Someone… someone help me bring Matt's body upstairs to his room."  


 

***

 

Claire awoke the next morning feeling marginally disoriented, feebly trying to piece together just what had happened last night once more.

Hardly was she stumbling down the stairs in one of Angela's borrowed bathrobes – she'd never expected to end up staying here, after all, leaving her with virtually no clothes – that a voice rang out to her.

"Sleep well in my bed, princess?"

Rubbing at her eyes, she made a face at his pleased sort of face. "You didn't have to give up your pretty purple bed, you know."

"Oh, I know. But even I know how to act the part of the gentleman."

She had to suppress a snort in response to that. All the better that Mohinder rushed down the steps just then, eyes wide.

"What?" Claire stammered.

"It's Maya. I administered a sleeping draught for her, because I knew she wouldn't have gotten any decent sleep at all if I hadn't, tossing and turning all night… I left the bottle next to her with the leftover drugs I didn't use, but it was empty this morning and…"

"Dead?" Sylar was grinning again, and Claire shot him another dirty glare. "One overslept himself and then there were eight," he chuckled softly. "Really, it was almost as if… you know, doctor, you're the last person to look at those poor, unwilling victims before they're pronounced dead. I suggest you let Peter do the inspecting next time. After all… he was a nurse, wasn't he?"

Mohinder visibly blanched, mouth parted in shock. "How dare you—"

"Let's not make this easier for the murderer by killing each other before he or she can get to you, okay?" Claire interjected, shaking her head. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have breakfast."

She was almost back in the dining room when Sylar's voice stopped her dead in her tracks. "Wouldn't you think it a good idea to look at the next part of the rhyme?"

Closing her eyes, she sighed. "Yes, I suppose you're—"

She was stopped short when someone screamed from inside the dining room.

"What is—"

Elle was standing, eyes wide, as she pointed at the figurines on the table. "Two of them have been broken off! As if…"

"It has to be somewhere here," Peter said from his spot next to Elle now, brow furrowed.

"But what if it isn't, Pete?" Nathan asked from the doorway to the kitchen. "What if they just want us to think that… what if they're really good—or invisible, even."

"If they're invisible, we'll never find them."

"No, but they have to be staying somewhere. I say we scour the island together. But not everyone. Just not… alone. Otherwise we're just helping the murderer along."

"That," Sylar said with a chuckle, "and the next part of the rhyme calls for someone wandering off… wonder who that could be, hm? Who's stupid enough to…"

"Oh will you please just shut up," Claire snapped, grabbing a piece of bread from the table.

 

***

 

The island really wasn't so bad. Forgoing an umbrella, Claire walked through the rain, trudging down the paths until she'd gone past the aviary, past the apple orchard, past the gardens connected to the house, finally coming upon the top of the cliffside, looking down.

"What did we say about not going wandering out on your own?" came a voice from behind her, and she didn't even so much as flinch. Not Sylar, after all.

"I'm invincible," she said, shrugging Adam's remark off.

"So? So am I. I'd be more careful if I were you, Claire."

"You seem to be forgetting that I'm not on the list of people this… murderer wants dead."

"Good point. But not good enough. I don't really want anything to happen to you, planned or not."

She hugged herself as a strong gust of wind came by, and she could practically hear him smile into the dark.

Not that it was particularly late, really. Just that… on this island, with this weather, it was always dark, regardless of the time of day.

"You're implying that I'm still a target, especially because I… am a roadblock that wasn't planned for? For someone who took the time to think all this out… I somehow doubt they'll deviate from their structure. I'll most likely be last."

"Don't say that, Claire," he said almost quietly, and she shrugged. "Either way we should really get off this island."

"It's three miles. We can't… wait a minute—"

"No, Adam, he can't. Not in this weather. I already asked both of them."

Adam pursed his lips, shaking his head. "It's strange. As if this person actually… thought all this out ahead of time, planned perfectly… I can't think of anyone in the group who would… be capable of this sort of feat."

"People with nothing but vengeance on their minds for years? I doubt it, I think it's definitely feasible."

"I don't know why I feel like I can trust you, Claire, it's like…"

His hands wrapped around her arms, rubbing slowly up and down. Too close, almost, but she was cold, and—

"Either you came out here together… or I get to single out your ignorance and stupidity… separately," Sylar's voice rang out as he spun the umbrella in his hand. "Care to join me, Claire? Really, it's too bad you're not wearing white, otherwise I would have begged you to stay out in the rain."

Claire scowled at him, and Adam's hands dropped. "I really hope you're next to go."

"Don't make yourself more suspicious than you already are. Really, in this game, what we don't want is suddenly just as incriminating as what we do want."

"What are you talking about," Adam snapped in that clipped English accent of his, making Claire frown.

"Think of it this way. Let's say I die next. That makes you incriminating because, well, clearly you wanted that. But… maybe you realized this and you were more intelligent than that, and on your list—"

"I don't have a list!"

"—hypothetically speaking, on your list I'm listed last, and you only said that to throw the others off your path. Or maybe you've thought about _all_ of this and you decided to kill me sooner, once again, as a result—"

"Yes, yes, I get it," he said. "I cannot stand you, I hope you're happy," Adam said, making a face. "Claire, I'll see you inside – don't stay out too long, you might… catch something," he said, annunciating the last bit as he threw Sylar a dirty look before walking back down the path to the mansion.

"Umbrella?" Sylar offered with a self-satisfied smirk, and she shrugged, prompting him to step closer and hold it over them both.

"I don't know why anyone would want to live here," she found herself saying, before she could stop to so much as consider what was coming out of her mouth. "It's so somber and dark… I mean, now, sure, this is sort of beautiful in a poetic sort of way, but really? All year round, nothing but rain and gloom and darkness?" she shrugs.

"There's something terribly alluring about darkness on a rather primal sort of level, though, don't you think?"

"Not one my father would like me to meddle in, no, I don't think," she laughed, shrugging. "You know what I just realized?" she asked, turning around to face him, "if you were the killer, I would suddenly be at your mercy and… maybe it's a good idea if we only sent people out in groups of threes. Much safer."

"If we're not careful, Claire-bear, there won't be _multiple_ groups of three left at all…"

She thought for a moment before asking, "I thought you said you didn't want to waste your time pretending to be someone you're not…"

When he didn't say anything, just raising his eyebrows, she continued, "why are you being so nice?"

"Maybe I just feel safest with the one person who I'm convinced isn't the murderer…"

"What makes you so sure?" she asked, voice small now as she watched him, eyes narrowed.

"I've murdered people before, Claire. I should know what a guilty face looks like. And while I can tell that everyone else here… is guilty, at least of their own crimes… you aren't."

A warm thrill rushed through her, and she shivered, despite not feeling all that cold.

"We should probably head back," Claire said, frowning as she looked up at the house. "Peter and Nathan will probably be finished with their search of the island."

"If you want," he shrugged, walking back up the path with her.

She was quiet for a moment, and then—"what about Elle? I'm sure she's tons more fascinating than me, though."

"She tried to kill me. Old resentments die hard, don't they?"

"Who _hasn't_ tried to kill you?"

He grinned at her. "You haven't, Claire-bear. I tried to kill you, and you walked. Only Peter Petrelli has done that, and that's because he's so damn special he's not special at all anymore. He's just a carbon copy… of everyone around him. Plus I don't really swing that way."

Before she could consider that one for too long, Peter and Nathan walked up to her, Peter shaking his head. "There's no one here. And if there is… well. I don't know how they're keeping themselves alive and hidden. It has to be one of us. What's… he doing here, anyway," he asked, narrowing his eyes at Sylar.

"Came after me with an umbrella. I was getting wet," she said, gesturing at herself. Nevermind the fact that she was already plenty wet and… an umbrella really didn't make a difference anymore at this point. "Listen, I was thinking. It's probably a good idea if we start walking around in groups of three, not two. Otherwise… well, one of the group will be the killer and… gone is another one."

"Claire has a point there," Peter said, nodding at Nathan, just as another voice came up behind them.

"Oh, but Claire was breaking her own rules, out all by herself before I came along, weren't you, princess?"

Just a hand on her shoulder as he came to stand next to her. Subtle, but she could practically feel the tension flying between all the men around her save for her father.

"I don't need protecting," she grit out from between clenched teeth, making a face.

"Claire, please," Peter admonished, leaving her to shake her head in defeat as she turned to walk back inside.

 

***

 

"Another one of the figurines is broken off," her father pointed out when they were all sitting around the table at dinner.

"Who's all missing?"

"Mohinder, Angela and Elle—"

Just then, Elle walked through the door. "It's Mrs. Petrelli. We found her dead on the beach, a blow to the back of her head with… a sharp-looking rock."

"I'd been talking to her just moments before," Adam murmured, thinking. "She'd been muttering something about how she was ready… that she was finally at peace…"

"One said he'd stay there and then there were Seven," Sylar sang softly.

"We need to get off this island," Nathan said, face pale.

"Where's Mohinder?"

"He's bringing in the body."

"You know, doctor," Sylar said when Mohinder returned to the table, ashen-faced and visibly shaken, "again you were the last one with the body. Funny how that works."

"Oh, please, just leave him be. He's just carried another dead body up the stairs – this is getting a little unsettling," Claire said, pushing her food around on her plate.

"Really, it's a miracle we all even have food today," Mohinder said, shaking his head. "It seems that there are rations ready for just enough people for every meal. If anyone stayed alive… we'd be running out a lot faster."

"Well, tell whoever doesn't die next that they can have the rest of my food. I'm not hungry. If you'll excuse me, please." Sliding out her chair, Claire got up and walked upstairs to her room.

She wasn't there for ten minutes, reading, when there was a knock on her porch door.

"Adam?" she exclaimed, eyes wide, getting up out of bed, realizing a split second too late that she was only wearing an oversized t-shirt and hotpants.

To hell with it.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she asked, through the screen half-incredulous.

"I'm here to rescue you! To make sure nothing happens to you."

"I'm fine! The door's locked as is the porch door – clearly – and nothing is going to happen to me!"

As if she'd been begging for it with her statement, there was a resounding knock on the door behind her.

"Claire, open the door."

Oh, of course. One of them wants to play knight in shining armor. The other one will just demand to take that role.

"No! I'm fine in here! Clearly. Since neither of you can get in—"

"If I really wanted to, I could," Adam said, gaze firm and unyielding.  
"Is _he_ in there, Claire? Don’t make me melt your doorknob—"

"Fine!" she said, walking to open the door to him.

Grinning. Cheeky bastard.

"What, you mean you've been denying me this view for this long and he got to see it all this time? That's entirely unfair, you do know that, don't you?"

"Get out," she said, pointing to the door.

"You know, it would be terribly kind of you if you could let me in, too, it's rather cold out here if I do say so myself," she heard from behind her, and she closed her eyes, visibly tensing.

Deep breaths.

"Let me take care of that, for you," Sylar offered, and the door opened in front of Adam before closing once more behind him, "as much as it pains me to do. I didn't want you to have to move from your rare state of undeniable annoyance and irritation. Really. Moving would have ruined the moment."

"Oh, please," she snapped, shaking her head. "Really, this is unnecessary. You should be trying to save yourselves, not trying to save me! I'm not on the list! And on top of that I'm indestructible!"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Claire—" he didn't look sorry, certainly, "—but I'm afraid that Mr. Monroe here has slightly less altruistic reasons for trying to sneak into your bedroom than he's trying to convince you of…"

"Would you keep your mouth shut, Sylar?" Adam hissed, admonishing him with a glare.

It's not like either of what they have to say will really make a difference.

"After all, have you _looked_ at those legs? I mean, they just go on and on and on and on and what would your father say if he saw you standing there like that in nothing but a t-shirt with two grown men in your bedroom?"

"They're hotpants!" she exclaims, lifting her shirt up to gesture wildly.

"Oh, yes, and they live up to their name so _well_."

"Claire, I'm just here to protect you, not like this one seems to be doing," Adam said in his clipped tone, but Sylar shook his head.

"Next he'll try to tell you that people never die in horror movies if they're having sex. Think about it, it's true."

Claire stared at him for a moment, half-incredulous, before pointing at the door again, more insistently this time. "Out! I don't care what you're here for! I'll be fine! Out, both of you!"

 

***

 

It only took her another half hour to really get them to leave so she might get a little sleep. Consequently she awoke somewhat later than she'd expected the next morning to her father knocking on the door.

"Are you all right?" he asked, eyes practically brimming with genuine concern on his part. It felt… refreshing on some level. On another level entirely, it was unsettling.

When her father lost his cool, how could she ever hope to keep a level head?

"I'm fine. I'm glad you're… still alive."

"Claire, nothing is going to happen to me, I promise you. We're going to put an end to this madness. Dr. Suresh has gone out to get more logs for the furnace – otherwise we'll all be wrapped up in blankets by the time the afternoon hits; this place doesn't have electric heating."

"Did someone go with him?"

"It's right outside, he'll be fine." He didn't look nearly as convinced as his words wanted him to sound. Unsettling.

"I'm sure that's what Angela thought, too. Just a stroll to the beach, and—"

"Claire, you cannot live your life in fe—"

"Dad. We're stuck on an island, trapped with no way out and a homicidal maniac who is so intent on getting revenge that he or she wants to see all of us suffer through this. This person doesn't have a concept of mercy! This isn't about my _life_ ; this is about death and the fact that I feel helpless and powerless to do anything in the wake of disaster!"

"What's he doing here?"

The question jolted her out of her temporary panic as she looked down beside her.

Sylar had slept next to her door.

That was almost… noble of him. Unexpected, yes. And unsettling, just like her father's genuine concern.

"Wake him up and come down for breakfast, okay?"

Claire nodded somewhat feebly, hugging herself as she watched her father slowly go downstairs, turning back to Sylar, perched up against the wall next to her door, one leg up, the other haphazardly just… there.

"Sylar?"

No response.

Leaning down, she gently shook his shoulder.

This time she was replied to with a yawn and a stretch, rubbing at his eyes before looking up at her.

"You surprised me, doing that. Thank you, that was… actually kind of you to do."

"What did you say they were called? Hotpants? Because I'm telling you, the view from down here is _fantastic_."

Sighing, Claire rolled her eyes. "Do you always have to combat any displays of emotion or kindness by being crude and sardonic?"

He grinned. "Yes?"

"Fine," she said, giving in as she shook her head. "Well, anyway, I'm here to tell you that breakfast is ready and we're to meet downstairs… and I think it might be a good idea, seeing as though you _are_ on this mad person's hitlist, if you slept in a locked room, too."

Something akin to a self-satisfied smirk blossomed on his face, and she had to resist the urge to take it back. "Are you… implying…"

"Yes," she said, pursing her lips. "You can stay in there with me overnight. But we're not sharing a bed; you can take the floor, or I can, or whatever."

"We'll see about that," he said, grinning as he got up and brushed past her.

Smug bastard.

 

***

 

"Where's Mohinder? Is he still outside with the firewood?"

"Yes," Elle said, nodding. "I saw him out there just ten minutes ago."

Claire shook her head, getting up. "No, no, I read the next part of the rhy—one more of the figurines is broken off! I'm going out the—"

"Claire, what if he's the murderer?" Sylar cut her off, getting up himself. "I'm coming with you."

"Fine."

They walked in silence until they reached the shed and then—

"He's not that tall," she stammered, eyes wide, frozen in fear. "Or that long."

"Shit," Sylar muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he looked behind the pile of logs. "Shit."

"Oh god, that—"

"One chopped himself in halves and then there were six."

"Oh, yes, thank you for reminding me," she said.

"Well, it does prove one thing," he said, grabbing a few of the logs, "he wasn't the murderer."

 

***

 

The conversation at the table while Peter and Sylar covered and carried both pieces of the body up the stairs and into his room was rather void, everyone seemingly afraid to say anything until they returned.

"The problem is," her father conjectured once everyone was seated again and Claire pushed her plate away from her, having effectively lost her appetite, "that none of us have good alibis for any of these murders. Save for those murdered… it could be any of us."

"Why don't you heal everyone with your magical healing blood Claire, hm?" Elle shot across the table at the expression on her face, and Claire glared at her.

"Do you really think that three people with _magical healing blood_ are collectively that stupid to forget that? No one thought to bring IV bags, or needles, or syringes to this island! Who would have thought that a homicidal maniac would be trying to kill everyone here, hm? Really now? What are we supposed to do, cut our jugulars so the blood is flying good at least for a little bit and bottle it, so we can cut the others and _pour_ our blood in? We need to get off of here, and even that seems insane – Peter and Nathan won't dare fly in this storm, either! This person is an insane genius who has taken away all of our escape routes and hope of salvation! And anyway, how on earth can you eat after something like that happened?"

"You talk about this as if you're _on_ the list. Eager to _fit in_ , are we?"

"Stop it," Sylar growled from his end of the table. "Claire, wasn't it you that said that we shouldn't help the killer along by murdering each other before they could get to the next victim?"

"I think that's part of the plan, to be quite honest," her father said slowly, thinking. "They want us to wait out our fate, fear racing through our veins because the next one could be us. Want us to go mad as we await our death. I have a feeling that this killer, whoever he or she is, felt themselves to be most merciful with Parkman. I tend to agree."

"That's horrifying," Claire said, eyes wide.

"Yes, well, there're still seven of us left. Let's not worry prematurely. Peter, How about you and I go build a signal fire at one point, maybe try to get the attention of someone on the mainland?" Nathan asked.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

"Take a third person along," Claire said, hastily adding, "just in case."

"Oh, and," Sylar added, "who here is allergic to beestings?"

 

***

 

No one was allergic, but it didn't make sense either. There weren't any bees that they had seen on the island at all, just such a very large amount of birds everywhere.  
  
_Just don't go outside,_ her father had told everyone. _And if you have to, go in a group._  
  
"Did you see that there's a screening room here? I found the key to it. Was in my room," Adam approached her with a grin after breakfast and Claire raised her brows in surprise.  
  
"Come on, I'll show you," he said, taking her hand and pulling her through the game room to a large door, previously locked.  
  
"An actress used to live here in the early 20th century, before they turned the island into a bombing range. Really, it's a miracle that this place is still standing. Granted, they had to replace a great deal of rooms. Explains why a few sections of the house seem so modern in comparison to the rest of it."  
  
"So? What happened?"  
  
"She committed suicide."  
  
"We're in a house that doomed us from the start, is that what you're trying to say?"  
  
"Here, sit," he said, smiling at her and leading her to the front of the screening room, before walking away again, continuing to talk from behind her. "They have these… old black-and-white movies here on these huge film spools… used to be all we'd be able to see back in the thirties or so. Only cost a few cents to get in—"  
  
"What are you trying to tell me?" she asked, frowning.  
  
"I'm trying to tell you," he started, turning on the projector as the screen came down with the flip of a switch and the movie started rolling, "that we're forever."  
  
Coming up beside her, he took a seat next to her, turning to face her as he took her hand in his. "Claire, listen to me. If we make it out of this… we're forever. Immortal souls. I've been alone and miserable for the past four hundred years, disillusioned by despair, betrayal, famine, war, plagues and the failure of humanity. What's living forever if you don't have anyone to share forever with?"  
  
"But Peter—"  
  
"Might not even make it out of this alive, Claire. Besides. He's your uncle. There's a completely different bond possible between you and him and… you and me." As if to make a point of his words, he stared at her hand in his. "That, and he's not like us at all. He just plays copycat. You and me, Claire… we're forever. Why wouldn't two immortal souls be bound together by destiny? Together, Claire… we would rule the world, god and goddess in our own eternal skins. Is that something that Peter could offer you? Let alone—Sylar?"  
  
She frowns, brow furrowing. "Sylar actually—"  
  
"Sylar cares for you? Is that so? Don't make me laugh. He's trying to draw you in so he can kill you, lonely and miserable… forever. He's a master manipulator, and—"  
  
"So are you," she interjects, eyes wild in confusion. "You've had four hundred years to practice being manipulative and charming and perfect!"  
  
"All right," he says, shrugging, "let's suppose he actually does care for you, the poor bloke. What then, hm? He'll live until he's seventy, eighty if he's lucky, and then he'll leave you alone for the rest of eternity. I can give you forever, Claire. He can't."  
  
As if on cue, Sylar cleared his throat from behind both of them, the movie in front of them forgotten, and Claire instinctively took her hand from Adam's as she looked at his imposing form, arms crossed defensively across his chest, one leg swung over the other as he leaned in the doorway.  
  
"What's up, Claire?"  
  
"Nothing," she snapped, getting up and brushing past him as she left the screening room.  
  
A part of her was curious to hear the argument they had to have gotten in after she'd stormed out, sure, but it wasn't nearly strong enough to keep her there.  
  
Stepping out onto the veranda stretching around the whole house, she pulled her arms around herself – chilly – as she spotted Peter sitting there by himself. "You shouldn't be out here all alone," she admonished, and he smiled up at her. "Neither should you. Anyway, I'll be fine. I wouldn't go down without a fight, you know that."  
  
"That's what they all say."  
  
"Elle was just here, and then—"  
  
Her scream rang out loud enough that she would have heard it even if she'd stayed inside, in the screening room, and before she knew it, Peter had grabbed her hand, dragging her behind him as they ran.  
  
"That came from the aviary," she panted, shortly before they turned the corner to—  
  
"She's not allergic to beestings!" Claire shouted in a panic, seeing her body, limp on the ground, red evidence of what looked like a beesting clear on her neck. It doesn't make sense. None of it does.  
  
"It's not a beesting," Peter said darkly, frowning as he shook his head. "It's just… supposed to be a beesting. She was injected with poison. Cyanide, most likely. Fastest acting poison, and straight into the bloodstream—"  
  
"Goddammit," Claire muttered, eyes wide as she shook her head in shock. "How could you let her go on her own like that?"  
  
"Blaming me is not going to bring her back, okay? She said she'd be fine—"  
  
"That's what everyone says!" Claire said, exasperation clear in her voice. "Just like you and me and Adam think we're going to be just _fine_ just because we're indestructible? No, I don't think so!"  
  
"Claire—"  
  
"Bring her body upstairs – I'm going back inside where it's safer!" she shouted after her in an emotional frenzy she wished she could snap out of.  


 

***

 

After Sylar's scathing reminder – _a bumblebee stung one and then there were five_ – Claire left the sitting room once more, almost accidentally walking in on a conversation, stopping just short of the threshold into the game room.

"A dangerous game, if it fails..." she heard her father mutter, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Shaking her head, she didn't think any more of it, leaving for the dining room to have dinner.

 

***

 

The event passed almost uneventfully and in silence, just another one of the little figurines broken off.

Until she couldn't breathe anymore.

"I don't—feel so good—" she gasped, eyes wide as her fork fell with a resounding _chink_.

"Claire—" her father was on his feet first, rushing forward.

"I can't—breathe—" she was chocking, coughing as she stumbled to get up—

"There!" Adam called out, pointing at the seat of her chair, a message seemingly etched into it with a knife.

 

_Anger can be a slow-working poison, affecting you physical and mental health._

_Stop annoying me or you die, too, blondie._

  
  
"Poison!" she choked, shaking her head as she struggled to keep breathing.  
  
"That doesn't make sense, shouldn't your regeneration—" Adam protested, but she cut him off.  
  
"Why the hell do you think I'm still alive?" she rasped, stumbling from the room in the hope that—  
  
Disoriented as this was making her, she was still hoping to somehow find a bathroom, otherwise—  
  
Something grabbed at her arm and yanked her up, causing her eyes to roll back into her head, about two seconds from just throwing up or simply passing out. Or both.  
  
"Claire, this is potassium cyanide, it was written on the bottom of your chair—now you're coming with me so we can find you amyl nitrite. The others are searching in the rooms upstairs; I'm not letting you out of my sight, do you hear me?"  
  
"Sy—h-how—" She wanted, very badly, to ask him how the hell he knew any of this, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to say the words. Or anything else, for that matter.  
  
"Fresh air," he ground out, dragging her behind him for a moment, before just picking her up into his arms. "I know there was a bottle of it somewhere here, but it's not in the study anymore and—fuck."  
  
She didn't expect to pass out in his arms just then.  
  
Granted, she hadn't been expecting a great deal of things, lately.  


 

***

 

"Good news and bad news, Claire-bear," she heard, eyes fluttering open as they fell upon a familiar face.

"Bad news first?" she asked, realizing suddenly that she could talk again. She was… fine?

"Ah, I'm afraid I didn't give you a choice. You already got your good news. I found a bottle of amyl nitrite. In the grass, just off the veranda. You're fine."

"What's the bad news, then?" she asked, a cold hand seemingly clenching around her heart.

"There's another figurine broken off. It seems that in the ruckus involved in your poisoning… someone neglected to watch."

"Who—"

"It's your dad. Shot."

Her eyes wide, she shook her head in disbelief, tears welling up in her eyes. "No, that's—that's not—no!"

"Claire—"

"He's been shot twice before now because of me, this isn't right!" she screams, eyes wild in rage and grief and fury, and he holds her down, restraining her.

He's not even using telekinesis to do it, and she stops moving for a moment, tears running down her face almost uncontrollably.

It's only when she stops like this that she can look up and actually realize that they're in her—in _his_ —bedroom, purple all around her, and she doesn't care.

"One got in chancery, and then there were four," he whispers, barely above his breath.

"I didn't know anyone had a gun here," she muttered, shaking her head as she stared up at the ceiling.

"Your father – your _real_ father – seems to have brought one with him. Don't ask me why, I don't know. But after I got you all better... he finally confessed knowing who that voice was. The game's turned a bit more serious now that there's only you, me, Adam, and the wonder-brothers left, it seems."

"Who was the voice?" she asked, blatantly ignoring his mocking.

"One of his former political advisors. Quit two months ago, committed suicide a week ago."

It didn't help one bit, and Claire shook her head wordlessly.

"Peter and Nathan went to start a bonfire up on the cliffside. I'm here with you and… Adam said he saw a shadow, so he's off to investigate."

"Do we know where the gun is now?"

"Adam took it. He's by himself, after all. With only five people left… it forces some segregation. Group favoritism."

"It's not safe."

"We tried safe, Claire-bear. And six people have effectively kicked it. I highly doubt that _safe_ is going to cut it."

"I can't believe this actually happened. I always… I always thought that I could leave this island and go home and pretend as if nothing happened, but I can't. All these people, and now… if anyone survived, I thought it would at least be him, he's so…"

"Virulent," he finishes for her. "Very hard man to kill and keep dead."

"Yes," she breathes, tears getting the better of her again. She doesn't really know what's happening until he brushes the hair out of her face and leans in to—

So much for knocking, she thought to herself just as Adam simply stormed into the room, looking far more uptight than she'd seen him look ever before now.

"Noah Bennet's body seems to have disappeared from his bed. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"No," Sylar shot back, getting up from his spot where he'd been sitting on Claire's bed. "No, I wouldn't."

The tension was thick enough to be cut through with a knife, and only when Peter came into the room, looking frazzled and panicked, did things seemingly calm down between Sylar and Adam.

"Nathan's missing. I didn't look for… a second, and then he was just gone the next. I don't know what happened. I don't want—"

"So is Bennet's body," Sylar interjected. "Missing. Something very wrong is going on here." Shaking his head, he added in a low tone, too quiet for anyone but her to hear, "a red herring swallowed one, and then there were three. This is getting bad."

"Yes, like the fact that no one is manning the bonfire!" Adam shot out.

"Don't go by yourself!" Claire said, eyes wide and panic-stricken, seemingly making him stop.

"She's right," Sylar said, nodding, eyes downcast as he thought. "Adam, take the gun and man the bonfire. Peter, go to your room with the axe by the tool shed, near where Suresh was murdered. It's every man for himself now."

"Is that so?" Adam asked, eyes narrowed. "What are you going to be doing, then?"

"I'm staying here with Claire," he stated, simply, as if there wasn't even a question about it.

"Let him," she said, looking at Adam and Peter and nodding to them both. "Please."

"Fine, but at least watch Peter get the axe and lock himself in his room – I don't trust either of you anymore."

"Join the group," Peter growled, rolling his eyes.

 

***

 

"I wish this was just… not real. That all of this was just some terrible sort of nightmare. It feels like a nightmare. Like those years spent running and hiding – those didn't feel real either, but at least everyone came out of it alive again," she said when she stepped out of the bathroom once more, dressed for bed by now, voice weak.

"You'll be fine."

"But will you? Or anyone else? So many. As far as we know, Nathan is dead, both of my fathers, murdered in the span of a few hours. This is so _wrong_ , Sylar. Nothing is making sense anymore! I don't want to blame any of you three – I can't! It doesn't add up!"

"It's been a long day, Claire—"

It had been. That much was evident from the way she was tearing up again now, thoughts lost in a whirlwind of emotions, culminating over the whole day.

"Sshhh, Claire, it's all right, come here," he whispered, pulling her into his arms. It felt so… foreign there, but not altogether unpleasant, either, surprising her somewhat.

Somewhat, because, well, she didn't really have all that much time to think of it, emotions getting the better of her and her thoughts as she rested her head on his front, tears flowing freely now.

"It'll be fine," he said, and even if she was relatively certain that nothing would be, she took comfort in the words, coming from him.

So strange, how things had changed.

"Two days ago… even yesterday… or this morning, really… I would have found solace in my father's arms, his reassuring words," she whispered into the fabric of his shirt. "And now look where I am."

"Not such a bad place to be from where I'm looking," he muttered, and she smiled.

"I suppose not, I—"

"Claire," he interrupted, his look seemingly admonishing her as her eyes met his, index finger and thumb coming together to slowly tilt her chin up towards him.

So much shorter than him, making it a bit awkward, but Sylar had always been nothing if not determined, and Claire did her best to acquiesce, perched on her toes, instinctively leaning in…

It was only a matter of time before their lips met, Claire hardly registering the fact when he lifted his hand, both doors, to the porch and to the upstairs hallway, locking simultaneously.

The entire sensation—all of it was so much slower, so much more languorous than she could have ever anticipated, coming from him.

Adam spoke of forever. Sylar spoke of now, here, and safe.

Claire Bennet had always been foolhardy and spontaneous, living in the moment. Most of the time it was stupid—and yet now there wasn't really anything holding her back from all this. Not anymore.

That thought in mind, her hand came up to get tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she kissed him, harder, tongue slipping past his lips to tangle with his.

"We don't have to do this, Claire," he whispered hotly against her lips, hands running over her back so insistently that it served almost as a reminder, a warning to her, from him, that if she didn't stop him, he'd really love to do this to her front.

And other places.

"I want to," she replied, eyes wide and full of emotions of all sorts, emotions she couldn't even hope to decipher and just didn't care enough to at this point.

"Good," he breathed.

It was the last thing she'd hear from him in a while, it felt, his hands leaving her back to roam over her stomach, just barely pushing up the flimsy fabric of the oversized t-shirt. For now.

His mouth trailed softly down her chin only to kiss a path down her neck, taking his time to softly suck at the skin along her clavicle as he pushed the offending fabric of her shirt aside to acquiesce him, alongside that heavenly little dip in between, at the base of her throat, remembering also to lave special attention on the small cluster of nerves where her shoulder met her neck, sucking on it just long enough to make it—

Almost too much.

"Bed," she breathed, and his eyes went wide.

"You're sure?"

She nodded, feebly, pulling him down to kiss her again, harder and more insistent this time, her fingers working on the buttons on his shirt.

It wasn't… entirely about sex. Much more so it was about the bond between two people, sharing comfort in the wake of fear and death surrounding them, clinging to each other like the last dregs of hope.

But as much as it was about that, his shirt was now off and he was deftly working on his pants already, pushing her back against the bed until her calves collided with the mattress, nearly falling back.

He didn't seem to mind.

The next second she _was_ back against the bed, him pushing her further to crawl on top of her, both of them barely fifteen seconds apart – just enough for her to pull the shirt off, leaving her in only her panties – before his lips were ready and waiting to assault hers again, kicking off his pants at the same time, eager to feel her skin on his.

She was, too; undeniably, moan slipping past her lips as he captured her lower lip in between his teeth, his hand slowly running down her side, pressing in there to a point of bruising, close enough to make her gasp, body wriggling underneath his.

"Are you terribly fond of these?" he whispered, hands tugging impatiently at her panties.

"It's one of Elle's spares, feel free to annihilate it," she smiled against his lips, hips bucking up towards him.

He grinned at that, only barely maniacal, and two vicious tears later discarded the scrap of cloth behind him, shimmying out of his own offending garment.

Claire wasn't about to stop him, not even when his hands raked down her front, pausing only briefly – self-control, she realized – on her bared breasts, moving down only to ready himself at her entrance, eyes seemingly asking permission.

"What is this, Claire," he breathed against the flushed skin of her cheek, and she sucked in a breath. "Is this _just_ sex? Sex to make you feel better about your father's death, all the deaths, or is this… something more…" he let the question linger like the ill-fated beginnings of inevitability, and she shivered under him. "You know, it's hard for me to know how much this even means to you, because there's no way for me to know whether you've done this before."

"I haven't," she ground out, frowning. "And don't you dare try to justify emotion with vulnerability. Whether I need comfort or not, I _want_ this, so I suggest you take it, or—"

The thought was accompanied by Claire's hand, deftly reaching between their two bodies to take hold of him. He let out a gasp, eyes rolling into the back of his head momentarily, and then—"or what?" he gasped, seemingly content to continue her wait until she begged him for it.

"Or someone else will be more than happy to," she said, eyes daring him to walk out and leave.

He didn't.

Instead, they cried out simultaneously as he entered her in one deft push, as much a loss of virginity as anyone else's - _the only time she'd feel her maidenhood torn for the first time, a novel, new experience only once_ \- and she cry quickly turned into a breathy shudder as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and willed him closer, deeper still.

"You're mine," he growled, pulling out and pushing in just as hard again, making her moan for a moment before she could speak again.

"I'm sure that— _ooh!_ —Adam disagrees—with you—there—oh!"

"Adam is going to die," he replied darkly, free hand running possessively down her front to pinch her nipple before traveling lower, a little erratic as he kept up the frantic pace of his thrusts.

"You sound so—o-oh!—sure of that," she whispered in breathy gasps, willing her body to move in tandem as her body arced up.

"If you're implying—" thrust, pinch, bruise, "that I've been—ugh, _fuck_ —killing everyone, you're wrong," he ground out, eyes dark and heady, making him look just a little delirious as he moved inside of her. "I just know I won't— let anyone get to me."

"O-oh! Oh, oh god, I hope you're—r-right," she gasped out, hand losing itself as it tangled in her hair, eager to grip onto anything in the motions, the bedspread a close and seemingly willing victim.

"Oh, _fuck_ , Claire," at first, sensations getting to him, and then— "I'm always right," he growled one last time, pounding inside of her one, two, three more times, hand slipping lower to rub against her swollen clit, finally pinching it when he came, hard, inside of her, eyes closing, lost in the feeling.

Claire followed, almost like a tidal wave washing over her, slow and steady, hips rocking up and against his in tandem, kissing him as it happened, ankles willing him closer to her as she rode out her orgasm.

It took them both a good five minutes to come down from the seeming high, collapsing back against the bed together, him barely still supporting himself above her.

"What now, princess?" he gasped, and she smiled as her eyes fluttered closed.

"Now we sleep and hope everyone is still alive when we wake up."

 

***

 

The next morning was a great deal calmer, and Claire slipped out of Sylar's possessive grasp as she padded across the wooden floor in her bare feet, getting ready in the bathroom and pulling on a bathrobe before he would have time to wake.

Bad time estimation.

"I was hoping you'd at least stay in bed with me a little while," he murmured from the doorway, watching her brush her teeth. "And, really, that bathrobe is entirely unnecessary. I've seen you naked. I liked seeing you naked. I doubt it'd be any different by this… wonderful artificial light."

"You're half-hard," she stated matter-of-factly through the toothpaste-liquid in her mouth, appraising his naked form as if she was contesting his question about the bathrobe with a question of her own about public decency.

"I just woke up," he offered, smiling. "It's too bad girls don't share that particular… weakness… otherwise I'd be more than happy to acquiesce to whatever you wanted."

Spitting and washing out her mouth, she set the toothbrush aside, looking him up and down. "I always thought you to be the type to just… take things, no questions asked."

He grinned, shrugging. "Used to be. Wish I still was… confronted with situations like this, though."

"You're confronted with situations like this often?"

"First time, actually," he said, off-handedly. "This is just a… particularly tempting scenario."

"I can see that," she said, smile blossoming on her face as she saw him hardening just a little more, his cock twitching subtly.

"I don't know," he thought aloud, eyebrow twitching upwards as he appraised her with a smirk, "every time I act like a right bastard, you like me a bit more. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should act more like my old self and just _take it_ from you."

Growling, he was in front of her in one step, pushing her back against the sink, hard, as he tore open the robe, hands roaming uninvited over her front, lingering just under her breasts, lips pressing down on hers, rough and demanding, his cock already close to her entrance.

"What do you know," he whispered, licking his lips, "the sink is the perfect height for me to fuck you on. Good, because you're so damn short."

It was her turn to grin, a heartbeat away from his lips, teeth seemingly wanting to close in on air instead of his wanting mouth.

Then she pulled away, pushing him off of her. "It'll have to wait then, in all it's wonderful glory. Priorities, remember? We should check that we're not the only ones left alive," she said, hopping off the counter and leaving the bathroom to grab a pair of socks to pull on.

"So what if we are," he growled dangerously, coming after her, a dark gleam in his eyes. "I don't think I'd care right about now."

"No, you wouldn't," she agreed with a matter-of-fact smile and nod, hopping on one foot as she struggled with her second sock. "But I care."

 

***

 

Just ten minutes later, and she found herself standing in front of Peter's door, knocking. "Peter? Peter are you all right?"

"He's fine, there aren't any bears on this island anyway," Adam said from the bottom of the stairs, making her turn around.

"Bears?" she asked quizzically, face scrunching up.

"The rhyme," Sylar reminded her, "what are you doing here, anyway, aren't you supposed to be manning the fire?"

"I was, the whole night you bastard," Adam shot back.

"Where's Peter?"

"He just left to take over. You should be worried about Nathan. I found him, washed up to the shore, his body in tatters."

"What?" she gasped out, eyes wide. "No! No, not him, too!"

Sylar grabbed her arms from behind almost instinctively, protective possessiveness taking over once more. "Does Peter know?"

"Yes, of course he knows – he's off to angst while watching the bonfire, mourning over the body of his dear brother."

"We're still missing a body," Sylar reminds him, and a shiver runs down Claire's spine.

"Oh, right, about that. No, we're not. I found him, just two minutes before you two paraded out of there, actually. He's sitting in the front row of the screening room. Dead and definitely warm, but not shot."

"What—"

"Claire, no one comes back from the dead—"

"I do! All the time!" she screams, and Sylar shakes her, lightly.

" _Not your father._ "

She doesn't snap out of it until there's a shout from outside.

 _Peter_.

 

***

 

Claire stared down at his body in disbelief, tears welling up again. "No," she choked out, prompting Sylar to restrain her once more, holding her in his arms as she stared, wide-eyed. "No, that's not possible—"

"I guess it is," Adam said, frowning.

"A big bear hugged one, and then there were two," Sylar chimed, and she realized that the only reason she was resisting the urge to slap him right about now was the fact that he was supporting her, offering comfort and solace.

"A bear, in the form of this marble clock. Fascinating idea, really. Straight to the back of the head, too, the perfect spot." Adam takes a deep breath, shaking his head before looking up at Sylar. "That leaves you and me, friend."

Sylar frowns, looking at the broken princess in his arms. "Claire, there's an axe in Peter's room. Get it, and lock yourself in your room. Adam and I are going to watch over the bonfire. Together."

Adam nodded, seemingly in thought, just as Claire found her voice again.

"No! I'm not leaving you!" she said, half-way in a panic, eyes wide, before Sylar leaned in close to her ear.

"Right now, I just want you to be safe. This ends here, now, you understand?"

Nodding feebly, she stumbled a few steps away from him, back to the mansion before she was pulled back by a firm hand, "and when I get back, I expect sex on the bathroom sink."

There really was nothing she could be left with to say in response to that, walking back inside just as he let go of her arm.

She only stopped briefly in the screening room, heartbeat racing as she saw her father sitting there. Not shot. Still warm.

Definitely dead.

Her breath catching in her throat as tears threatened to spill again, she left again in a hurry, running up the stairs before spotting—

"No," she gasped, seeing the noose at the top of the stairs. "No, no, oh god, no," she muttered to herself, yanking open Peter's door to grab the axe before dashing back to her own room in a panic, leaning the axe to the wall – _please don't make me use it, please don't make me use it_ – before locking the door with trembling fingers, turning around to—

" _You_ ," she gasped, eyes wide, heart stopping.

"Yes, me. That shirt looked ten times better on me than it does on you, by the way," she snapped, pursing her lips as she took a playful look at the gun in her hand, pointing it back at Claire. "I suppose you want an explanation."

"I'm not the last one! I wasn't even on the list!"

"Did you really think that I had considered that your stupid regenerating body would not let the poison take over your system? But it worked out so well, pretty little Sylar coming after you with a _riddle_ to solve, figuring out the antidote and saving his beautiful princess in time – almost… fairytale-like, in a way.

"But nothing is really that poetic, is it, Claire. None of these murders – although they've been nothing _but_ poetic, acquiescing perfectly to the way my little rhyme worked. Except for your stupid father, of course, but it made sense in the long run, in a way." She smiled.

"Why?" Claire exclaimed, wishing she had a better weapon than a blade to go against Elle's gun.

"Why? For a variety of reasons, each one perfectly and exquisitely crafted for every single person in this house. Except for you, of course, you damn roadblock. You know, if my dad were still alive, he would have known exactly how to tell with these people, knowing better than to give them amnesty for their crimes like the community has. No one could argue against a machine, so of course that political advisor – what was his name again, Paul? – was easily enough manipulated, knowing he could get a chance to get back at your father. Everything was set up perfectly, like puzzle pieces in my plan for the greater good."

"The greater good?" Claire spat, eyes wide. "You sound like your father!"

"And proud of it!" Elle shot back, eyes eager to defy. "I knew I had to do something, all of these people doing what they believed to be right, murdering the innocent, however well-intentioned or… indirectly they might have been doing it. But the main plan?" she grinned again, circling Claire like a cat would its prey. "You'll realize, of course, that the less innocent died first. I didn't want them to have to suffer with everyone else. But I wanted Sylar to suffer, knowing full well what was coming for him and still, unable to stop it all along, driving him mad. I succeeded, didn't I? He fucked you. Daddy would have been so proud of me."

The hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and Claire shook her head, trying to control her temper. "What does Sylar have to do with you and your mad need for vengeance? My father—"

"Was the one who shot mine?" she finished for her, eyes questioning. "Yes, but Claire, don't you know that power always lies in the details? Why do you think they let Sylar off so easily after all he'd done? Virginia Gray's death was just a cover-up; I didn't want to give away my real intentions. He worked with your father, planning my father's murder like the serial-killer mastermind he is. And now I'm giving a little… back. A taste of his own medicine, if you will. It might have been Noah Bennet's hand that my father fell at, but the real mind behind it was Sylar. And I wanted him to watch as his own death sped towards him. Who knew that young, sweet love would blossom through it?"

Claire bit her tongue to keep from shooting back a few choice words. Had to. "But you were dead when we found you."

"It seems the poison I slipped you did plenty to at least shut off your brain for a little while. The antidote that Sylar found in the grass, just off the veranda? That was mine, lucky him. After I left Peter on the porch, reassuring him that I would be just fine, of course, I took the antidote to the potassium cyanide and accidentally dropped it. But picking it up then would have been much too suspicious, so I left it. And you're sweet, sweet man found it for you just before it was too late, and your abilities couldn't keep up with the poison any longer. I'm almost glad about it now – you got to watch the rest of the show."

"But Adam and Sylar are still alive!"

"Will you be a bit more patient? I want to play evil mastermind and relay you my ploy on my own time – we'll get to them eventually, don't worry your pretty little head.

"I stabbed myself in the neck with the syringe of poison, yes – the same poison that I put into your food, intent on getting rid of you once and for all just that afternoon before. I _did_ prepare everyone's meals, you know. You should be more thankful, really.

"So I threw the syringe away – stung like a bitch – and no one knew any better. By the time you and Peter found me, I was effectively dead, poison working faster than the antidote, quickly coming together in a head-to-head battle, the antidote very slowly working its magic as you came to find out later that evening. No one noticed my body disappearing from my room… Noah Bennet's body was a different story altogether, though."

Smirking, she cocks her gun, circling once more. "The man plotted with your dear uncle, thinking he could outsmart me, throwing off the course. Go and figure things out himself. It caught up with him, though, you see. So the two of them decided to stage his death, Peter, the oh-so-skilled nurse declaring him legally dead from a gunshot wound before anyone else could think to check. Later that night he sneaked around and… well. Let's just say I got to him just before I got to your dear, dear uncle, in the screening room, too. He didn't even see it coming, knife in his back, buried to the hilt. It was beautiful in a… morbid, poetic sort of way. Like most things on this wonderful little island, haunted and trailed by suicide and murder and pretense and violence and the spoils of war." She grins. "And of course our dear Adam found him, still warm, furthering the mystery. As if I had thought of the whole plan myself!"

"What happened to Nathan?" she said, as if on cue, and Elle chuckled to herself.

"He was caught by a red herring, it seems. A message, seemingly stuck to the rock of the cliff… he leaned over a little too far, and down he went. I knew he'd try to fly, so a little deviance in the form of showing off never hurt anyone, am I right?" Claire glared as Elle played with the blue sparks between her fingertips, arriving just as fast as they disappeared again.

"Is that Nathan's gun?"

"Don't be an idiot, then the rhyme wouldn't work!" she laughed maniacally, twirling it like a toy in her hands. "No, silly, that wasn't the only gun on the island. _Please_. I might have gotten creative with the means of murder, but that hardly is to say that I didn't have a gun. I just didn't want to make it quite so simple… then it wouldn't have been worth it, having all this fun."

"What's going to happen to me?" she dared ask, heart in her throat.

"Well, to return to your other question, one of the two will realize that the gun left with the bonfire… is still a gun, and grab it. My bet was always on Sylar; Adam just doesn't have his type of fighting spirit, never truly needing to keep himself protected. So the one who doesn't get the gun is going to die. Didn't your lover tell you that all this would end, right then? They seem to think that the other is responsible, poor innocent things. Pity, really.

"So whenever one shoots the other, the only one left is going to come back here. Given that they were both competing for your affections, it will cripple either of them to find your dead body, bullet right through the head, the gun in your hands. Suicide. Sweet, isn't it? Then, I'll be free to watch as the last one despairs, finding himself all alone… _one little hero boy left all alone…_ you saw the noose, didn't you? Poetic justice at last.

"Finally, I'll poison myself again – there's still plenty of potassium cyanide, and no antidote this time – and I'll have time to make it back to my bed before dying in my sleep— by the time anyone will find us, they'll have eleven dead people, an unsolved mystery of epic proportions on their hands. I don't envy them."

She positively beamed, the reveal of her master plan seemingly tearing off the last bit of sanity she had left in her.

Claire didn't even know how she did it, years of cheerleading finally paying back as the gun flew from Elle's hands.

One shot, not hesitant, and Claire saw sparks.

 

***

 

She feared that, by the time reached the cliffside, one of them – bias firmly in place – would be dead already, but, running up to where the bonfire crackled, she stopped short, watching the exchange.

Just as Elle had predicted, Sylar was holding the gun, Adam seemingly laughing at him.

"You did a lot of damage, you English son-of-a-bitch, and it's all going to end—"

"No!" she screamed.

Chain-of-events, set in motion by that one piece of the puzzle.

Thrown off-guard, Sylar lowered his arm for just a moment—

Then the bonfire seemed to hit a dangerous spot on the ground, and Claire was reminded of the fact that this was formerly declared unexploded ordinance, a practice bombing range.

The explosion could probably be heard from across the island, and Claire would never see exactly what happened, as she ducked from it all.

When she dared open her eyes again, she saw no one. Stumbling to her feet, a few staggering steps revealed the real outcome, Sylar lying on top of Adam just a few feet away from where the explosion reached to.

A grunt from him and Claire cried out in relief, running towards them both as she tugged at Sylar's arm.

It didn't take much insistence to get him to get off of Adam, wrapping his arms around her.

"Is he—"

"No," Adam answered with a groan, getting up. "He isn't." A second later and he seemed to be standing again, staring at Sylar in disbelief. "You saved my life."

"If Claire wouldn't have stopped me, I would have taken it. Actively. And then we would have both exploded, and you would have effectively died twice. You should be thanking her."

"What happened?" he asked her instead, and she shook her head.

"The threat's gone now… I think," she offered, holding the gun in her hands up.

 

***

 

The Massachusetts coastline was by far nicer than Nomans Land, and much less rainy, Claire never happier than she had been before then to leave anyplace at all.

The bodies buried on the island, the three of them had told the story, intricate and complex, leaving the law singly able to shrug it off and let the three lone survivors to effectively move on with their lives.

"I'll let you know when I feel like dying," Adam had reassured Claire in reference to the man holding her in his arms, "he saved my life; a debt like that isn't easily forgotten."

That simple, and she'd been left with no one but him in the end.

Like fate, in a strange way.

Too bad she didn't believe in it herself.

"I don't think," she told him, one morning over breakfast, her in nothing but one of his oversized shirts, panties and socks, him content to simply wear boxers – _it's only decent_ , she'd told him – "that the story was supposed to end like this."

"Well," he said, setting his cup of tea down with a smile and taking her hand in his, "there was an alternate ending, did you know? _Two little hero boys before the story was done, one got married, and then there were none_."


End file.
